


my love will clothe your bones

by hattalove



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: A little, Family, Fluff, Kid Fic, Lazy Mornings, M/M, that's pretty much it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-02-19 13:31:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2390090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hattalove/pseuds/hattalove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Louis fancies himself a big, tough man, complete with embarrassingly ginger stubble and a too-big four by four, but it’s all an illusion, really. All it takes is one look at his family, and he melts.</i>
</p><p>it's one of the most important mornings of louis's life. he spends it with the people he loves most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my love will clothe your bones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fairydustedtheory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairydustedtheory/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY [AUDREY](http://canigoforaquickwee.tumblr.com)!!!!!!!!!!! i love you and you're amazing and i hope you have the bestest day because you deserve it ♥ this sort of took on a life of its own, i kinda ran away from the theme im sorry :/ i hope you still like this anyway
> 
> (also i snuck mitten the cat into this i'm horrible) title from [bones](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OtTxr48YOmM) by josh record. enjoy ♥

For once in his life, Louis actually wakes up to the sun.

It’s slanting through the blinds and spilling all over the bedroom floor, bright rays like liquid gold. It illuminates the dust motes dancing in the air, and Louis thinks, idly, that they ought to clean the house one of these days. 

Opening his eyes is hard work, weighed down by the warmth of the duvet and last night’s wine, and when Louis finally does, it’s to the soft, sleepy angles of Harry’s face. Louis’s lips curl into a smile. 

He’s disgusting, truly. 

As he stretches and untangles his bare feet from the sheets, Louis begs today’s thoughts to stay away a little longer, to let him have this, a moment so fragile and tranquil it feels frozen in time. Beyond their bedroom door, the house seems blissfully quiet, still, and he doesn’t want to stir that peace. 

The clock tells him it’s nearing seven – a truly abysmal time to be awake, if you ask Louis, but today just might be a special occasion. It would explain the excited thump-thump of Louis’s heart behind his ribs, the way blood dances through his veins like it can’t quite settle down. 

The morning air is crisp on Louis’s skin even as the heating pipes slowly creak to life behind the wall, and he pulls the duvet higher, buries himself in it until he’s encased in the warmth of heavy fabric and Harry’s body, still half-draped over his own. 

It’s very rare for Louis to be the first one awake. He takes the opportunity to study Harry’s face, soft around the edges in the light of the morning, the elegant slope of his nose and delicate, trembling eyelashes. His curls spill all around him like a halo, perfect ringlets sticking up every which way, shiny and begging for Louis’s fingers. The dark red bow of his lips seems too perfect to be real. 

It doesn’t take Harry long to wake. His internal clock is programmed meticulously, driving him out of bed every morning without fail, but when he opens his eyes, they’re just this side of clouded. Harry had been quite a bit tipsy last night, Louis remembers. 

“Hi,” Louis whispers, biting his lip. He tries – and fails – to stop a ridiculous smile from crinkling his face. 

Harry blinks, his breathing catching up with the new rhythm of being awake, and flexes his fingers. One of his hands is resting, loose, on Louis’s hip. “Morning,” he croaks, just this side of disoriented. “I love you.” 

Louis giggles. He thinks he’s allowed when it’s not even eight in the morning and he gets to wake up to this lovely, lovely man. 

“Love you too, babe. Did you sleep well?” 

Harry’s forehead crinkles against the fabric of his pillowcase. “Wait,” he mumbles, finally regaining control of his limbs, shifting and stretching and coming to like he always does. “How long have you been awake?” 

Louis smiles. He runs a playful finger down the slope of Harry’s nose, across his cheek, and feels Harry’s grin warm his fingertips. “Just a few minutes, love. Waiting for you to catch up.” 

Harry’s pleased expression doesn’t leave his face when he pulls Louis closer, just like the way they fell asleep last night – chest to chest, with legs tangled and Louis pressing soft kisses into Harry’s collarbone. Louis goes easily, still warm and pliant with sleep, lets himself be small and quiet and taken care of. His cheek fits to Harry’s shoulder perfectly, just like it always does. 

“You did sleep, right?” Harry asks, rumbling through his chest and right into Louis’s bones. The familiar timbre of his voice makes Louis’s pulse flutter, soft like a hummingbird’s wings. 

He’s so very sweet, Harry is. So lovely. Louis adores him. 

“Of course I slept,” he calms, laying his palm on Harry’s chest, flat over where a heart beats, loud and strong, Louis’s. “You worry too much, darling.” 

Harry doesn’t attempt to hide his smile, happy as he always is when Louis is soft, affectionate like this; that is to say, nearly always. The older Louis gets, the less time he has to pretend he’s not a hopeless sap. 

“I _don’t_ ,” Harry says. “I know how you get when you’re nervous. We need to be well-rested today, whatever happens.” 

“You make it sound like we’re going to war,” Louis grumbles, presses a kiss under Harry’s jaw where his pulse is strong and alive. “’Sides, I couldn’t not sleep after that much wine.”

Harry hums. His arm sneaks under Louis’s waist, pulls until he’s got Louis lying on top of him. Louis settles into his familiar curves and planes, easy as breathing. 

“You always were a bit of a lightweight,” Harry presses into his hair. 

Louis gasps in mock offense, props his chin up to peer at Harry’s open, happy face. “That is an outrageous lie.” 

Harry doesn’t grace him with a response. Instead, he leans down, muscles shifting, and kisses Louis good morning. 

He tastes like he always does when it’s early and they have nowhere to be; like mornings, like the beginning of a new day, a new era, a new life. Always the beginning. Always the promise of so much more. 

It’s in Harry’s arms that Louis always feels small, and it’s in his arms that he always feels like a giant. A stadium full of people has never been quite as humbling as meeting Harry’s eyes over the dinner table, brighter than the candlelight, alight with love. 

Louis doesn’t know what’s about to happen with his life; he’s mere minutes from finding out, but all the restless energy suddenly seeps out of him, spills out through his pores and soaks into their sheets, forgotten. No matter what, he’s got Harry by his side. 

He wants it, of course. He wants it for Harry, for himself, for the boys; but regardless of whether today’s tears will be of joy or sorrow, he knows he’ll get to go to sleep in this very bed. He’ll get to hold his Harry and spin tales about the future into his ear, make him laugh and kiss his nose before they drift off to sleep together. That’s everything, Louis thinks; everything he could ever need. 

“What are you thinking?” Harry asks into his mouth, a too-tight grip on Louis’s shoulder belying the lightness of his voice. 

“Not much,” Louis answers, rolling his thoughts back up, storing them away for later. “I love you. And today’s going to be good.” 

Harry kisses him again, morning-chapped lips and warm breath. “You really think so?” 

He sounds small, young; younger than his years. He still looks for reassurance in Louis, sometimes, like when he was seventeen and curled up under the stage with nerves, shaking so badly he couldn’t hold his microphone. 

“I do,” he says, kisses Harry on the nose. “I do. It’ll be brilliant.”

Harry sighs, closes his eyes and hides his face in Louis’s neck. He’s holding on tighter than he normally would, muscles jumping as he shifts this way and that, devoid of the softness that usually lingers just under his skin in the mornings. 

“Alright,” he says, quiet, and the half-hearted smile he presses into Louis’s skin feels beautiful. “I believe you.” 

“You should,” Louis grins, “I’m always right.” 

Harry chuckles, a near soundless rumble deep in his chest, but before he gets to retort, tease Louis with no mercy and too much fondness like he always does, there’s a crash outside the door. 

Louis wastes no time in rolling off of Harry and hiding under the blanket, curling up into a ball and holding on to Harry’s hip as he giggles. 

“That’s not nice,” Harry grumbles from above, but he sounds amused. “She won’t like this.” 

“Shh,” Louis hisses. 

It’s barely a few seconds before Louis hears footsteps down the hall, pitter-pattering like rain against a windowpane. He stills, waiting for the door to creak open. Harry’s breath slows down under his palm, deep and even, and Louis allows himself a moment to be excited that he got him to play along. 

It’s silent, and then it’s not – a pair of tiny feet stomps into the room and stops a few feet away from their bed, just like every morning. 

“ _Daddies_ ,” a tiny voice whispers, “I know you’re awake.” 

Louis fights the grin that’s trying to break through his sleeping façade. Their daughter is so very much like Harry in so many ways – her presence never fails to put a smile on Louis’s face, for one. 

“Uncle Niall said I was allowed to dump water on you if you didn’t want to wake up.” 

Louis grimaces. He pokes his head out from under the blanket and into the iridescent light of the morning, meeting Harry’s pale eyes along the way. They hold the same spark of mirth Louis feels dancing right in his heart, warming him to the tips of his toes. 

Laura is standing by the foot of the bed, curly hair sticking up stubbornly on top of her head. She’s holding the cat under one arm, all but dragging its tail along the ground, and her blanket under the other. 

“Uncle Niall is a liar,” Louis says. He sits up slowly, reluctant to leave the warmth of the blanket. “And what are you doing up so early?” 

“Papa!” she beams, dropping everything and clambering up on the bed, all excited childish elbows. “Good morning, Papa!” 

Louis lets his smile break free, opening his arms to let her crash into him. She smells like sleep and the lavender pouch Harry had put under her pillow. “Good morning, lovely.”

“Heeey,” Harry grumbles, alight with happiness even as he pretends to pout. “What about me?” 

Laura sighs, put-upon. She is definitely Louis’s child. “Good morning, Daddy.” 

Harry grins. “Good morning, family.” He sits up and wraps himself around both of them like an overgrown octopus. Louis settles immediately, familiar in all the little crevices he’s carved out for himself in Harry’s body. Laura and Louis get a kiss on the nose each, which. Louis only feels a little like melting into a puddle of happiness right there in their ridiculous, gigantic bed. 

“Did you sleep okay?” Harry asks, immediately concerned. She’s been having nightmares, lately, and he’s been taking it about as badly as Laura herself. 

Laura hugs Louis a little tighter, curly hair tickling his nose as she nods. “I had Mitten with me.” 

It’s only now that Louis remembers their poor cat sitting on the ground in the pool of Laura’s blanket. She seems a little worse for wear, licking down her ruffled fur and glaring, but her tail is swooshing back and forth just above the carpet, like she, too, feels the undercurrent of excitement running through them all. 

“No bad dreams, then?” Louis asks, just to make sure, dropping an absentminded kiss on the top of Laura’s head. 

“Nope,” she says. “Except uncle Liam’s snoring. It’s horrible.” 

Harry giggles, tightening his arms around them. Louis makes a mental note to tease Liam about this, later, when they’re all upright and full of Harry’s cooking and as relaxed as they’re going to get today. He tilts his head back to look up at his husband, and sees his own thoughts mirrored in Harry’s eyes. 

They spend more time in bed, like they always do. Louis tries to start a tickle fight, but is quickly shut down; Harry discovers a new hole in Laura’s Spider-Man pyjamas and asks Louis to remind him to sew it up later; the sun makes its way across the sky a little too fast as they talk about Laura’s dream involving marshmallows and her toy ponies. The city wakes up behind the window, but Louis has the entire universe right here, in his arms. 

The lads wake up one by one, water pipes creaking and wooden floors resonating under the weight of their steps, but Louis is still reluctant to let the world in and crawl out of bed. 

“I can tell you’re excited, Papa,” Laura tells him with a very serious expression. “That’s good. You should follow your dreams.” 

Louis looks at Harry, deadpan. This is all his fault, really, for being an incredible father. Harry giggles at him in response, pecking Louis’s shoulder, and a little more of the tension drains away. 

Getting up does, after all, turn out to be inevitable. With the clock proudly announcing half past eight, they throw back the covers and crawl out, opening the door and breaking the illusion of a normal day. 

“Good morning!” Louis shouts down the stairs, obnoxious, trying to balance Laura on his back. 

“Finally!” Zayn shouts back. Louis hates Zayn. 

Surprisingly enough, by the time they make it downstairs, the kitchen has not yet been turned into a warzone. They greet each other with silent hugs, all of them secretly buzzing out of their skin, and barely contain themselves while Harry makes breakfast. Louis’s hands are shaking when he passes out plates. 

“So,” Liam says through a forkful of scrambled egg. “Today’s the day.” 

Louis suppresses a fond glare. Pointing out the obvious is, after all, Liam’s forte. 

“Stop it,” Niall groans with his face buried deep, deep in his mug. “I’m feeling sick enoug as it is. Also, Tommo, your beds are awful. It’s like lying on a rock.” 

“They’re good for your back,” Louis replies, rolling his own shoulders to loosen them up. They’re good for Harry’s back, at least. “And you literally live two minutes down the street. You could’ve stayed in your own damn house.” 

“Nrgh,” Niall says, eloquent. “We should’ve done this at Z’s. He’s got water beds.” 

“We’ve got the biggest house,” Harry says, grinning, as he slides the last few slices of bacon on Niall’s plate. “And I make the best brekkie.” 

“That you do,” Louis grins up at him, giving in to the urge to lean up and steal a kiss. Harry tastes like morning, a mix of toothpaste and tea and toast. 

“Best beans ever, Daddy,” Laura agrees. 

“Thank you, pumpkin,” Harry says very seriously, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth while he pulls out a chair and plops down next to Louis. 

It devolves into a food fight at some point down the road, and it’s not at all unexpected. Louis makes sure not to waste any of what Harry’s made them and throws orange juice-soaked cereal instead, mentally awarding himself for every one of Liam’s indignant shrieks and Laura’s peals of laughter. 

The time comes, eventually, when they can’t put it off anymore. It’s with impossible trepidation that Louis stands up. They’ve piled up in the living room, fidgety, by the time Liam remembers what they’re missing. 

“Uh. Laptop?” he says, uncharacteristically curt, but if there ever was a time Louis understood why Liam does what he does, it’s right now.

“I’ll go get it,” he says, squeezes Harry’s hand, and walks away. He looks over his shoulder in the doorway, at their daughter bundled up in Harry’s arms, wild hair and bare feet, at Harry’s shining eyes and twitchy fingers, at his brothers piled in a single armchair, trying to tickle each other. 

Louis fancies himself a big, tough man, complete with embarrassingly ginger stubble and a too-big four by four, but it’s all an illusion, really. All it takes is one look at his family, and he melts. 

When he gets upstairs, the laptop is sitting, inconspicuous, on the floor by their bed. Louis had turned it off and put it there yesterday, just a few minutes before midnight. Somehow, it burns as he carries it downstairs and sets it on the coffee table.

Deep breaths, he reminds himself. This isn’t as monumental as it feels. Life will go on, no matter what happens. 

Harry extends the arm that isn’t already wrapped around Laura, and Louis slumps into his embrace gratefully, letting the boys take the lead. He presses his face against Harry’s shoulder, against the flower tattoo they both got for their daughter, in the midst of a clear expanse of skin, ready to be filled. 

It’s Niall who bites the bullet and opens the lid. 

“So,” Zayn clears his throat. “Google News?” 

“Probably better that Twitter,” Liam nods. He’s got his phone clutched in his hand, knuckles going white around the dark screen. It’s off, like they agreed; Louis kind of wishes they hadn’t done that, been woken up in the middle of the night by thousands of notifications instead. It would’ve been less nerve-wracking than this. 

“Okay,” Niall breathes. “Alright.” He types in the address, then slaps a hand over his face. 

“I can’t look,” he says, and Harry makes a soft noise of agreement. They all turn their heads away as the screen loads, and Louis suppresses a hysterical laugh trying to claw its way out of his throat. They’re all _children_.

“I can,” Laura says, wonderful little human that she is, and squirms out from in-between Harry and Louis. “Is it good that your picture is the biggest one on the page?” 

Louis’s breath stutters in his chest. 

They made the main page, then. Alright.

“Are they saying good things?” Niall asks, face still stubbornly buried in his hands. 

“I don’t _know_ , uncle Ni,” she says, the eyeroll practically audible in her voice. “I can’t _read_.” 

Louis’s stomach feels like he’s walking up the stairs of an extremely tall helter skelter, about to plunge to his death. 

Enough, he thinks. 

He opens his eyes, blinking at the light of the laptop screen, waiting for his eyes to adjust. It’s definitely them – a picture from the last night of their last tour, with fireworks in their backs and bittersweet expressions on their faces, and the headline—the headline. 

_One Direction unexpectedly announce new album, cause mayhem; pre-order numbers in the millions._

“Lads,” he chokes out, not at all surprised at the lump that rises in his throat. Laura immediately looks to him, alarmed. 

“Is it bad, Papa? Are we not going on tour?” 

Next to him, Louis feels Harry’s breath catch as he skims the article preview. 

“It’s not bad, darling,” he says, unsteady, reaching out for her until she’s back in his arms, hugging him tight around the neck. “It’s not bad at all. I think we might be going.” 

“I’ll get to see Disney World?” she asks, excited; Louis grins at her even as the world blurs a little with tears.

“It says,” Harry’s voice falters. “It says number one in sixty-nine countries.” 

“It says _what_ ,” Zayn leans closer, half crawling over Niall. 

And the thing is, Harry’s right. The full article has a screenshot of the iTunes charts – the UK and the US and Germany and France and Sweden and _so many more_. 

“Oh my God,” Liam says. Niall’s hand has somehow found its way to Louis’s ankle, squeezing hard enough to bruise. It’s not often that any of them see Niall lost for words. 

“Oh my God,” Harry repeats, and turns to Louis. He’s _beaming_ ; a smile so brilliant it lights up the room better than the late morning sun ever could. He leans over and presses a kiss to Louis’s mouth, all teeth with their matching smiles. Something that feels like a supernova explodes in Louis’s chest. 

God. They’re doing this again. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Zayn whispers, slack-jawed with awe, and Louis doesn’t have the heart to tell him off for swearing in front of Laura. Now is not the time, he thinks as he looks to all of them in turn and sees a near-forgotten kind of happiness come over their faces. It looks like being on stage feels; like running head-first into the unknown, like booming fireworks, like the second of calm before a drop on a rollercoaster. 

Louis is the happiest man in the world as it is, but he can’t deny he’s missed it; there’s nothing quite like going up on stage with nothing but a microphone and a small hope that everything will go well. And it will be different this time, he’s sure. This time, he’ll get to hold Harry’s hand if things become too much. This time, their daughter will be sitting just off the stage. Harry will get to blow her kisses; Louis will get to dedicate her songs.

“We should, um,” Liam starts, looking shaken like he rarely every does. “We should turn our phones on. Call people back.” 

He’s right, of course. Everybody’s probably heard by now – there’s going to be missed calls from their mums, their siblings, from their PR people. Liam’s been jumping out of his skin to call Sophia since last night, and Pezza will probably be over the moon even if it’s still the middle of the night in New York when Zayn calls. 

“We should,” Niall agrees, the first words he’s spoken in the last five minutes. “Hug first, though.” 

Louis grins. “Bring it in, then,” he says, laughing, and pretends to have his breath knocked out when they all slam into him and into each other, Laura gleefully crawling to the top of the pile. 

They might be grown men, but that doesn’t mean they have to act like it, Louis is sure. That’s not who they are. 

“It’s not going to be the same, you know,” Harry pipes up from the bottom of the pile. He sounds small, but happy. 

“No, it’s not,” Louis says, dodging Niall’s elbow and looking at them all – his husband, his daughter, his boys. His family. “It’s going to be better.” 

_~fin_

♥♥♥

**Author's Note:**

> y'all should definitely go and [wish audrey a happy birthday](http://canigoforaquickwee.tumblr.com/ask)! and then come talk to me on [tumblr](http://hattalove.tumblr.com/post/99002223193/my-love-will-clothe-your-bones-harry-louis). shameless plug over. i love you. have a nice day.


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